


the room's hush hush (and now's our moment.)

by nothingpersonal



Category: Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, artist!cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingpersonal/pseuds/nothingpersonal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <sub>"you." cat said, quiet even in the silence of the room. "you're my sun."</sub>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the room's hush hush (and now's our moment.)

**Author's Note:**

> petition for all about us by he is we to be catburry's song. ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Y7abqqwAQc))
> 
> op hey, i've been very reluctant to post fics nowadays but, (with some encouragement) im really starting to get into it again so, hope for more catburry stuff soon *cough* high school soccer au *cough*
> 
> as always, kudos/reblogs/likes/whatever are very much appreciated!!! :)

"move your arms up a bit for me, okay?"

meghan frowns, her arms aching and she's terribly tired. she's part nude and her hair's a mess; she's not even quite sure how she agreed with cat when she saw her in the morning, down the main hall.

"my arms feel heavy," she complains, even though she's gotten quite used to it all by now; the itch on her nose (that only appears when she can't scratch it, of course), the ache in her arms and her legs, the burn in her calves and the cramp in her neck— she's more than used to it. "cat, please can we take a real quick break?"

cat glances up from where she's sitting — sitting, meghan wishes she could sit too — and shifts the palette on the balance of her left palm, thin brush in her right. "repeat the last pose," she says, eyes locked on meghan, and meghan follows her order, groaning. "tilt your chin up a little," and meghan does, "look at me."

meghan looks, and cat's standing up from her stool, lips curled and crooked, feet slow as she moves towards her. meghan follows cat's eyes as she gets closer, blinking, her muscles tensing. cat raises her hand, thumb splattered with red—

there's a familiar moisture spreading on the width of her right cheek, liquid and rough. the pad of cat's thumb gently slides along the soft of her skin, tracing lines, and she bites her lip as she feels it run down her face, and cat wipes it from her chin.

cat smiles, and meghan likes the way her nose scrunches up a bit when she smiles— just genuine and eyes crinkled at the corners. she says "you've got red paint all over your cheek, honey," to meghan softly like it's a secret, like it's a forbidden secret and meghan has to figure out what it means. "keep the pose for another five, babe, is that good?" she leans in and kisses meghan softly on the forehead, then on both eyelids when meghan shuts them. "and then we can take a quick break, okay?"

except that's not the answer meghan wants. her stomach clenches, jumping— and it isn't because she wants that break desperately, she just wants cat, cat's attention; wants her to stop thinking about _art art art_ and think of meghan instead. so, alright, maybe she's quite selfish, but they've been going at it for the whole week and they've got no time to themselves— cat's portfolio is due by next wednesday at 3pm sharp, and cat doesn't like rushing and meghan doesn't want to rush her but. meghan wants her girlfriend back.

(she keeps the pose, arms outstretched, legs crossed, head tilted. the paint drying on her cheek gets a little uncomfortable, hardening on her skin.)

but meghan's spoiled; every time cat's at work, she gets to see the furrow in her brows when she's concentrated, that quirk of her lips when she gets something right, that dark look in her eyes, focused yet wild, fixed on meghan when she watches the way her muscles jump under her gaze. quite embarrassingly, meghan can't say she's not at least a little turned on when their sessions are over.

and that's it. meghan's spoiled. she's so spoiled and she just wants cat.

she counts underneath her breath: one, two, three...

she steps off the podium, and cat frowns, her mouth forming a "meghan" that never gets past her lips.

meghan steps close, cheeks red — quite literally as well — and her chest tight and bursting. there's a bit of paint left on her cheek, still wet, and she dabs at it with her forefinger, reaching out and pokes cat's nose.

she smiles, pointing to her nose, "you've got a little something here, honey," and cat's looking at her with half shut eyelids as if to say: i can't believe i like you, you miserable jerk, and meghan just feels as if she's bursting at the seams and she wants to say i like you a lot too.

(i love you.)

cat shakes her head, but she's hiding a smile and she grabs meghan's hips and laughs into her collarbone, soft and tickling; meghan wants to keep it like that.

***

(meghan's not sure if cat knows what she does to her. cat's perfect— makes meghan feel perfect, too, and makes her feel like she's special and worth it, worth this; and that's baloney, definitely. cat's talented and good — great, unbelievable — at art and she loves meghan which makes meghan's insides curl and her blood pump in rhythm with her heart; telling her to just breathe, slowly, calmly, and that this, this is real.)

***

when she looks over to the canvas though, she thinks, maybe she's too spoiled.

(because cat loves painting her — "the shade of your skin and the color in your eyes; the light of your hair and the dips of your bones, megs; you're you, and you're beautiful" — and it's no wonder she also likes painting meghan during her own time, borrowing miss. flint's art room, admiring the skylight window that occupies the wide space of the ceiling.

"there's a secret to art," cat told meghan one day, her eyes focused and hair gleaming under the bright of the window: "sunlight.")

***

(that day, when they were alone in the art room on the very first day, meghan asked cat what's so important, special, about sunlight.

cat's eyes are like mocha, chocolate, bittersweet and meghan squirms under her gaze. she watched as cat opens her mouth, hesitating, staring deep at her face like there was more to it; more to meghan that she saw and meghan didn't know about.

"you." cat said, quiet even in the silence of the room. "you're my sun.")

meghan still can't believe she fell for those words.

***

cat loves how she can hold meghan's hips in her hands, leaving various patterns of dotted paint on the pale of meghan's skin, loves the way their friends ask why when they change in the locker room and meghan flushes red (just the perfect shade of red, which has possibly become cat's most favorite color).

she also loves when they can be alone in the space of the art room (her second home), loves painting and painting meghan, loves pushing meghan against the glass of the windows and letting the sun cast shadows and contrasts across the bare of meghan's skin; loves how she can paint meghan's expression after a quick fuck.

art is her world. her heart. but meghan's her soul.

***

meghan laughed and smiled cheekily, cheeks pink, when cat first said that. her eyes were sparkling under the glare of the sunlight — as if it were jealous of cat to be able to have meghan to love and to be loved by — a brilliant shade of oak, fresh wood, a cup of hot cocoa, morning coffee (the kind that meghan makes in the morning when she wakes up earlier, and cat likes the way it's bitter even with two packets of sugar stirred in, likes the way it bursts _meghan meghan meghan_ as the liquid leaves a warmth down her throat); they remind cat to breathe but sometimes it also makes her forget how, makes her remember that that's okay and this is her and cat wants to hold on to catch her breath.

"alright, poet cat," meghan scoffed, rolling her eyes and lips in a tight smile, failing to hide it from twitching upwards. "got anything more to add?"

"yeah," cat replied, leaned in closer and pulled meghan's hips snug against her torso, mouthing at meghan's collarbone and biting the skin there. meghan made a soft "ah" noise and cat loves that too. "i love you."

she doesn't have to look to know meghan's tainted red (and it's not entirely cat's fault that it became her habit to smear a lighter shade of vermillion on meghan's cheeks), face heated and cat felt a hot breath on the side of her ear.

"i love you too."

***

cat knows it's hard to keep still for an artist to sketch a pose, but meghan's complained but never complained seriously that she'd force cat to stop working—

"you think you'd be done in a few, cat?" cat would nod, smearing charcoal with the tip of her thumb. "alright if i move my arm a tiny bit lower?" cat would laugh, ("sorry, babe, in a moment"); "can i shift my knee a little over to the right?"

sometimes cat'd sigh, deep and long. but right when she stands up, meghan'd say, hastily, "no, cat, no no, honey, i was just poking fun. keep working, i'll keep my mouth shut."

and apologetically, cat would return a small smile, "almost done, meghan. just hang on for a few, okay?"

meghan nods — "ah, sorry, sorry; i moved." — "yeah, it's alright, babe, take as long as you'd like. don't rush."

and that always makes something tug at the pit of cat's stomach like strings are attached at the ends and just pulling until she felt guilty.

meghan blinks up at her underneath her eyelashes when cat feels the need to just show.

"it's just... you're lovely," she whispers, "i can't paint you enough." she breathes in the scent of meghan's shampoo, her hair tickling her nose and her cheeks. meghan nods into her shoulder, but careful not to move around too much.

"then paint me as much as you'd like."

***

and cat does.

***

cat loves marking meghan with showers of love bites anywhere she can, pressing bruises into those irresistible hips to claim as hers, loves it as much as she can paint meghan and paint on meghan, stroking shades of peach and turquoise, raspberry and lavender on the dips of her bones, leaving colored fingerprints of red and brown (chestnut, really, the shades are different), green, yellow, and light pink, coral— scattered across meghan's back and her front, on her waist and her hips and the contours of her ankles.

"ah, you've got me all messy," meghan always says, looking at herself, hair disheveled and nose crinkled. "i look like humpty dumpty except i fell in a bucket of paint."

cat laughs at that, because meghan's silly and adorable and she's got paint on her clothes and her hair, on her chin and cheeks, everywhere.

she paints her. just like that.

***

"you've got a little something here," meghan says, pointing at her nose, and cat can't help feeling as if she's died and gone off to heaven; can't help but want to crowd meghan against the wall, kiss her and fuck her until she's as breathless as cat is, mark her until she's realized how much cat can't show with just words how much meghan truly means to her. cat wants to open the skylight hovering above them, staining them with sunlight; maybe climb into a plane and jump off, screaming (she's crazy, probably; but that doesn't matter) i love meghan camarena to the rest of the world; but she also rather whisper in meghan's ear like a secret — i love you and it will always be you, megs — whisper with low panted breaths to make meghan understand.

but she can't voice out her thoughts, can't express her actions while her mind is running wildly, thinking, a mess, her chest tight and she doesn't think smiling is enough (it's a shame lips can't even stretch that wide) to convey everything meghan means to her.

so she grabs meghan's hips, pulls them forward until meghan between the v of her legs and buries her face into her collarbone, pressing her lips there and breathing.

cat wants to keep it like that.

***

meghan doesn't complain.

***

(because art is cat's favorite thing to do, her hobby, life, heart.

meghan's her sun.)


End file.
